


Not a kid

by soy_em



Series: Wincest Love Week 2018 [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Kid Fic, Kinda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-29 20:51:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15081464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soy_em/pseuds/soy_em
Summary: Jack's hitting the teenage years...





	Not a kid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NaughtyPastryChef](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtyPastryChef/gifts).



The door slams, and the Bunker, concrete behemoth that it is, actually shakes. 

“Fucking hell,” Sam says, with a wary glance at a small trickle of dust coming from the ceiling. 

“Guess he’s hit the teenage years,” Dean says, body tight with tension.

“No shit.”

***

Jack doesn’t come out of his room for the rest of the day. An oppressive air hangs over the Bunker, as if his discontent is altering the atmosphere. For all Dean knows, he very well could be. 

Dean hates this, hates conflict under his roof. He and Sam have just gotten to a place where they’re happy together, where they bicker but don’t fight - and now they’ve pretty much adopted a teenager. 

Dean’s thrown back to when he had to do this with Sam. John had been around to enforce serious disciplinary issues, of course; but those had really been more relevant for Dean himself. Sam had never snuck out to go drinking, or meet up with girls. 

But most of the day to day discipline had fallen to Dean; and he’d been the one exclusively dealing with Sam’s mood swings. The one time John had tried had ended in disaster, both Sam and John screaming before their father stormed out. 

So Dean had taken over, and had developed a whole arsenal of ways to calm Sammy down. He thinks back on them now, trying to assess whether any will be useful for Jack. “Food,” he thinks, a sure-fire winner that works on everyone. 

Leaving Sam sitting morosely in the war room, Dean levers himself to his feet and hobbles to the kitchen. His leg, injured in werewolf hunt a few days before, is still weak; but it should be strong enough to hold his weight while he cooks. He’s certainly not going to eat Sam’s cooking for another evening. 

Rustling about in the cupboards, he turns up the ingredients for lasagna. Perfect - no one can resist a good, cheesy, warming lasagna. Dean sets to with enthusiasm, pushing the pain in his leg to one side. 

It’s not long before the smell starts to seep through the kitchen and then out into the rest of the Bunker. It draws Sam in pretty quickly; Dean’s embarrassed to admit it but one of the domestic habits they’ve developed is Sam keeping Dean company while he cooks. 

“Smells delicious,” sam says, setting his laptop down on the table with his unbandaged arm. Dean smiles a reply, and starts chopping vegetables for the cold salad Sam insists on. Another thing they bicker over; and one where Dean had eventually conceded defeat. The withdrawal of blowjobs had nothing to do with it, though. 

It’s not until the cheese is crisping on top of the lasagna that they hear anything from Jack. When Dean’s sharp ears pick up the click of an opening door, the rustle of quiet feet, he shared a glance with Sam. They both grimace, hoping the next conversation goes easier than the last. 

It takes another ten minutes for Jack to slink into the kitchen. When he does, he’s silent; head down and shoulders hunched. He looks like a kicked puppy, and Dean knows that when he finally does look up, big eyes will be looking at Dean with a plaintiveness Jack had easily picked up from Sam.

Dean shares another look with Sam, wondering how to play this. 

“Want some dinner, Jack?” Sam asks, voice completely neutral. Jack nods, but doesn’t say anything. 

“Five minutes,” Dean advises. “Take a seat." He lets just a little steel infused his voice. The kid is definitely not going to get away with taking dinner and hiding in his room. 

Jack slides into the seat next to Sam, who bumps his shoulder gently. As usual, Jack is completely unable to resist Sam, and a tiny little smile breaks out on his face. 

Dean serves the lasagna in silence, but it feels like the atmosphere has lightened considerably. He and Sam bicker their way through the meal, teasing each other about their food choices (“Eat your veg, Dean.”), while Jack sits quietly, his anger apparently defused. 

It’s only when Sam’s pulling ice cream out of the freezer (his permitted contribution to cooking), that Dean broaches the subject. 

“You wanna talk about earlier, kiddo?” he asks. 

Jack frowns. “That’s the whole point. I’m not a kid. I could do the hunt without you.”

Sam tenses next to him, clearly expecting another fight, but Dean’s determined to keep his temper this time. 

“No. You can’t.” He carries on before Jack can interrupt. “The smitey part, sure. You got that down. But the rest, no way.” 

Jack clearly wants to speak, but Sam steps in. 

“You have to be believable as your cover, and for this case that has to be FBI. And you don’t look old enough to be a Fed, Jack, sorry.”

Sam’s tone is soft and understanding, the voice he uses on recalcitrant witnesses. It works on Jack too, apparently. 

“I could try,” Jack insists. 

“Maybe in a few months, when you’ve done it a few more times. But for now, it would just make people suspicious. Dean’s completely laid up, he can’t go, but maybe you and I-” 

The growl in Dean’s throat must escape, because Sam rolls his eyes. 

“But I don’t think it’s fair to leave Dean here alone when he’s injured, so we’ve asked a couple of other hunters to look into it.” 

The hope that had built in Jack visibly deflates, and he slumps at Sam’s side. Sam wraps an arm around his shoulders. 

“How about we spend our little break teaching you to shoot properly?” 

Jack beams. Dean’s not sure why a nephilim, even a powered-down one, needs to learn how to fire a gun. He suspects it has a lot more to do with Jack being the centre of Sam’s world for a few hours. He’d laugh at the kid if he didn’t feel exactly the same way.

***

Later, as he and Sam are getting ready for bed, Sam pauses. 

“Do you think we’re doing the right thing?” he asks. “Do you think we’re doing this right? We’ve got no experience of raising a kid, how do we know if we’re doing it right?”

Dean can sense a full panic attack blooming. He needs to step in, and fast. 

“Speak for yourself,” he says. “I’ve got plenty of experience raising a kid.”

Sam stares at him, confused. Dean crosses to stand behind him, wrapping his arms around Sam’s waist. 

“Raised you, didn’t I? And you’re not completely shit.” 

Sam sputters a laugh, but his body relaxes in Dean’s arms. 

“C’mon, lets go to sleep. If I remember anything about you as a teenager, there’ll be more drama tomorrow.” 

“Oh fuck you,” Sam complains. But he lets Dean tuck him into the bed, a rueful smile on his face. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come check out my [Tumblr](https://soy-em.tumblr.com/).


End file.
